"No; how could I?"

Really, I didn't know. I wished that I had given more study to the details of spirit manifestation. I didn't remember that I had ever heard of a ghost smoking a cigar, but doubtless such cases existed.

The point was this: Why, if the ashes from the ghost's cigar became visible when knocked off, shouldn't the smoke become visible when expired? Or did the fact that it had been inside an invisible object render it permanently invisible? I fancied this was what Mrs. Magnus had meant by her question. Perhaps she had studied the subject. At any rate, it was too deep for me.

"A moment later," she went on, "another ma.s.s of ashes fell; then perhaps five minutes pa.s.sed, and I saw the remnant of the cigar placed on the tray. I confess that my nerves gave way at that point, and I fled from the room."

"Locking the door after you?"

"No; but I came back and locked it ten or fifteen minutes later."

"Did you enter the room?"

"Yes; I had left the light burning and entered to turn it off. I found on the desk another note beginning, 'My dear wife.'"

"And then what?"

"I was here the next night and the next. There was something about it that fascinated me, and I saw that there was no reason for fear. In the end it came to seem almost natural--almost as if he were here in the flesh."

"And always the same things happened?"

"Yes, or nearly so, the writing growing more legible all the time."

"And then?"

"Then, three nights ago, I grew brave enough to go and stand by the desk, and look over his shoulder, as it were, while he wrote the note which I showed you this morning."

"You mean that he actually did write it while you were looking over his shoulder?"

"I mean that the words formed themselves on the sheet of paper under my eyes, precisely as they flowed off his pen."

"And there wasn't any pen?"

"There wasn't anything. Only the ashes and the odor of tobacco."

I glanced across at Mrs. Magnus sharply. Could it be possible that she was inventing all of this incredible tale?

"No," she said, answering my thought; "it happened precisely as I tell it. I am hoping that you will see for yourself before long. It is almost time for him to come."

I felt the hair crawling up my scalp as I glanced around again at the desk. Like everybody else, I had always professed a lively interest in ghosts and a desire to meet one; but now that it seemed about to be gratified, the desire weakened perceptibly.

"I didn't at first intend to give him the money," she went on. "I didn't see why I should. He was dead. It was mine. He had never, in his life, given me fifty thousand dollars. But when, the next night, the money wasn't there, he expackets over to Mrs. Magnus.

"In writing?"

She nodded and held another sheet of paper out to me. On it, in Peter Magnus' hand, was written:

MY DEAR WIFE: Do not delay. I must right a great wrong before either of us can rest in peace.

"And from this you judge that he wants the money to--to--"

"Yes," she said, not waiting for me to finish. "Even then I hesitated.

I did not see that I had any concern in his misdeeds. But last night--"

She stopped, and I saw sweep across her face the sudden, pallor I had noted in the morning.

"Yes," I encouraged, "last night--"

She was clutching the chair arms convulsively, trying to force her trembling lips to form the words. What horrible thing was it had happened last night? What--

And at that instant I was conscious of the odor of tobacco in the air, and distinctly heard the low grating of the office chair as it swung around.

CHAPTER III

I suppose the student of the supernatural always has to fight against the excitement of the unknown--an excitement which clouds the judgment and confuses reason. Certainly, as I turned my head and sprang to my feet, I was very far from being a cool and collected observer; yet, indisputably, the chair _had_ turned. Indeed, I snapped my head around in time to see the last of its movement toward the desk. And at the same instant my nostrils caught more strongly the sweet and heavy odor of Peter Magnus' cigar. For a moment all was still. Then Mrs. Magnus rose and beckoned me forward.

"Come," she said, and with an effort I compelled my feet to follow her.

It was a battle between instinct and reason. Instinct was trying to hurl me out of the room and out of the house. Reason was telling me--in a very faint voice, it is true--that there was nothing to be afraid of. I have always been proud of the fact that I _did_ approach the desk, instead of making for the door.

And I was even brave enough to glance behind it. One glance was sufficient. The triangular s.p.a.ce between the walls and the back of the desk was empty. I don't know why that should have afforded me any relief, but it did.

Then, before my eyes, not three feet away from them, a little gob of ashes dropped from the empty air into the tray.

I am free to confess that that sight swept away any remnant of doubt I may have had in the reality of the unreal--if I may use such a term.

Peter Magnus was sitting in that chair. There could be, to my mind, no question of it.

But if any doubt had existed, it would have been ended by what followed.

For my eye was caught by the pad of paper on the desk, and, even as I watched it, I saw unfold upon it, one after another, these words:

MY DEAR WIFE: Place the money on this desk and leave me. I shall be at rest. Good-by.

I wish I could describe to you the sensation which shook me as I witnessed this miracle. For there the words were, and I had seen them flow smoothly from an invisible pen--from Peter Magnus' pen, for the writing was his.

"I have the money," I said, and I caught up my bag from the floor, unlocked it, and took out the five sealed packets. "There are one hundred hundred-dollar bills in each," I explained, almost as if he could hear me--indeed, I was quite sure at the moment that he did hear me; and I pa.s.sed the packets over to Mrs. Magnus.

Without a word she placed them on the desk, then turned to me.

"Come," she said. "That is all. Good-by, Peter," she added, and there was a little sob in her voice. "G.o.d bless you."

Was it my fancy, or did something like a sigh come from that unseen presence in the chair? It was in a sort of maze that I followed Mrs.

Magnus from the room. She switched off the light and then closed the door.

"Thank G.o.d that is over," she said.